As the elves finished sharing their observations, they slowly turned to observe their new habitat.

Their dormitory was lavishly decorated in such a way, that the elves were once again reminded, with a pang of longing, of their other homes. While no means large, the cozy dorm was adorned in a theme of burgundy that gave off a sense of style and elegance. The floor was carpeted in a lighter shade of burgundy, while the walls were painted gold and trimmed with light yellow. In the main room, a small love seat and chair were neatly placed beside a roaring fireplace, with a small footrest and table nearby. On the the right wall, a huge bookshelf was piled high with volumes of volumes of dusty and decaying books. On the left wall, was a huge bay window that led to an exquisite view of the edge of the lake and of the edge of the forest. Hagrid's hut was blocked by a few of the giant trees, but even so, the two could still see a subtle line of smoke arising into the air where his hut would be. Past the window, lay a small hall, containing three doors. Presumably, Arwen and Legolas' room, and a washroom. The main room was lit only with the moonlight which streamed through the huge window.

"Cassandra. . .?" spoke Legolas out of the dark, his pale face illuminated serenely by the moon's glow.

"Yes?"

"Do you not find it curious that Professor Dumbledore would put us in a room with a precise view of both the lake and forest?"

Arwen paused.

"Now that you mention it, it does sound curious." Arwen said casually, making her way slowly over to the bookshelf. Idly, she picked up a dusty book from the third shelf. She read the spine, and a small smile touched her lips as she opened the book and started flipping through the pages.

"Though, I do admit, I find our reading material much more interesting."

She held up the book.

"The Riverside Shakespeare," Arwen said. She put the book back and picked up another one as Legolas moved over to the bookshelf.

"Magical Herbs and Their Common Aliases," she murmured drily as she put it back.

Legolas sighed as he looked over the books as well.

"Ancient Medicines, Wandless Magic: Fact or Fiction?, Different Dimensions For Dummies; I say, how kind of the Headmaster. Now, we needn't scavenge through the school's library to get what we need."

Arwen smiled as she sighed and turned away from the books.

"Well, Professor Harrison, it seems we have a big day tomorrow, shall we say goodnight?"

"Goodnight, Cassandra."


Everything was just as he had remembered. The mallorn trees were lined with an ethereal silver glow, while the golden leaves wafted down from their limbs making the terrace even more elegant than before. In the distance, he could hear the siren like voices of the elves of Lorien, singing. He could smell the elanors and niphrendils in the clear air while larks sang out that it was morning amidst the cool sunrise that streamed through the larger than life trees. His desire to scale the towering trees and behold the sunrise would have overcome him, and had it not been for something else in his unsettled mind, he would have done it.

"Legolas Greenleaf."

Legolas turned around to see her.

Galadriel of the Galadhrim, clad in her beautiful ivory silk robes that illuminated her figure and eyes, stood before Legolas and before the infamous looking glass of Lothlorien.

"Lady," Legolas bowed his head and kneeled.

"Please, arise, my dear boy."

Legolas obeyed, and for the first time since his arrival in the Lorien, looked the Lady Galadriel in the eye. Yet, this time, there was no danger in her eyes, no suspicion, no vague references to fate or destruction. Instead, there was calm wariness. She was aware what was going on in the world. Both hers, and others.

"Do I dream?" queried Legolas.

"You do."

Galadriel moved around her pool and motioned for Legolas to sit as she sat down on her marble bench. Legolas followed her actions, still a bit dazed.

"I am here to tell you only what I can."

Legolas nodded, but squinted a bit unsurely.

"How do I get to you?" he asked anxiously.

Galadriel smiled softly.

"We are planes and planes away from one another, and it will not be easy. But you are right where you assume."

"The morning star on Christmas Eve. . . is that what you mean? Is that what will bring us to you?"

Galadriel said nothing, but her crystalline eyes twinkled.

Legolas sighed as he looked away.

"Sauron is watching you. He has two traitors on his rank, and he will use them as he sees fit." Galadriel's voice drew him back.

"Gollum and Wormtongue?" Legolas asked.

Again, the wise Queen said nothing.

"Beware Tom Riddle. We underestimate him. He is of no comparison to the evil of Sauron, but he and his league pose a threat to the Ringbearer."

"Deatheaters, that is all he has, Lady Galadriel!" flustered Legolas, still not comprehending, "they are human, they pose no threat to things like the Ringwraiths and-" argued Legolas blindly.

"You haven't allowed me to finish." Galadriel said firmly.

Legolas swallowed, feeling quite foolish and rude.

"I beg thee pardon."

Galadriel smiled crookedly.

"Tom Riddle has enlisted remnants of the Third Age. . . you know of whom I speak, and who you must fight. Be wary of them, and be on your guard."

"Remnants? But all the remnants of the Third Age are Sauron's armies, not Voldemort's! Voldemort uses Deatheaters-"

"Evolution has taken place in the world in which you now habitat, Legolas Greenleaf. Elves are not part of that evolution, but humans are, and so are wizards. . . and other unnatural things."

Legolas thought.

"Dementors. . .?"

"Derived from Sauron's demon Ringwraiths."

"How did they come into being?"

Galadriel paused.

"I know only this; when Sauron controlled the Nine, he knew only that he needed them as long as he needed the Ring. After the Ring was destroyed, the Nine were never heard of or seen of again. This you know. After the elves departed the shores of Middle Earth, man merely assumed the Riders had been destroyed. When in reality, they had gone into hiding, into the heart of Mirkwood. And there they remained, and evolved into Dementors. Cold, and hungry for the souls of man. It is presumed that the Lord Voldemort obtained information about the One Ring from the Dementors, and that is where everything took a beginning."

Legolas's brow furrowed in confusion.

"I don't understand. Since the Nazgul and Dementors are of the same line of magic but different planes of existence how is it possible that the Nazgul and Dementors can co-exist?"

Galadriel gave him a dark look.

"It is isn't possible, Prince. Understand, that once the Dementors and Riders meet, they will clash. Dementors may have adapted to this new world and know it better than the Riders, but the Riders are the top of the dark magic. There is no defeating them, and no destroying them. Lord Voldemort has promise in his Dementors, however his knowledge of the Riders is scarce."

Legolas paused.

"What you're saying is; Voldemort is going to try to use Sauron's own creations against him in order to obtain the Ring, but he will fail against the powers of the Riders?"

Galadriel remained silent for a moment, but shook her head.

"Not just the Riders, Prince. There will be a great war soon between Sauron and Voldemort; good, from both worlds, will be caught in the middle of all of it. You must prevent this war, or at least. . . try and win what you can."

Legolas noted that his vision and hearing were getting fogged by another noise, a distant sound. Galadriel was getting further and further away and time was short.

"Why do you speak to me and not your kin?"

There was a pause.

"Evenstar occupies the dreams of another. . . Namarie, Son of Mirkwood. Remember what has passed between us. . ."

It was a faint whisper, so small and so quiet, Legolas was scarcely sure he had heard it. White clouds surrounded him, and all was quiet. . .





Suddenly, he was running in a forest. Invisible rocks and cruel weeds threatened his grace and agility as he sprinted through the forest. He was being chased. Darkness folded in around him, with only vague streams of light coming from here and there. He was running faster than he had ever ran before, for something threatened to catch up to him, to catch him. Legolas made careful to not look behind himself, for if he saw the creature chasing him, fear would seize his strong heart for just a split second, and he would fall. A snarl was heard from behind, and Legolas urged his long legs to take longer strides. But it was useless, as the snarl became louder, and more ferocious, Legolas felt his legs give way, and he tripped over himself and fell lightly to the ground.

Legolas frowned.

Gandalf said this wouldn't happen anymore.

As he fell, the ruthless sounds of growls ceased.

There was silence all around him.

Legolas slowly and cautiously pulled himself up from the ground and looked behind him to see where the beast had gone to.

He was mildly surprised to see that in place of a beast, was a man.

A tall, dark, unkempt man. Not in such a way as a ranger, but more as a dirty mortal man. The man had dark hair and dark set eyes that begged for sleep; he seemed to be watching Legolas with a calm amusement as the latter pushed himself up from the ground.

"What are you?" asked the man of Legolas.

Legolas merely shrugged.

"I'm an elf. What are you?"

"A werewolf." the dark stranger said simply, as if talking over Sunday tea.

There was a deep silence between the two, before both of the men smiled softly. . . . .

While Legolas dreamed of werewolves, a shaggy black dog shivered from the cold hundreds of miles away, in a dark muggle London alley. This simple, mangy dog, however, dreamt of a beautiful raven haired and grey-eyed beauty. . .

In his dream, the dog was eating out of dumpsters in Hogsmeade.

A sudden and soft rustling sent his guard and senses flying, though.

He flew away from the dumpster and jounced to the ground on all fours, bowing his head and growling ferociously.

Before him stood a beautiful woman; standing a rough six feet tall with ebony hair cascading past her waist and azure ocean eyes striking through the dog's heart. She wore silk green robes with a silver velvet cape and on her back were two most peculiar items; a quiver of arrows, with a bow. The dog snarled at her warningly.

The woman merely tilted her head.

The dog tried to scare her away by snapping his jaws, barking, and foaming, but the woman simply would not budge.

Not knowing what else to do, The dog sat down and let his ears wag and his tail sweep the dirty alley floor slowly.

The woman smiled softly and approached the dog slowly.

Gently, she kneeled down before him and pulled back the hood of her cape. The woman then seemed to examine the dog with her grave eyes before raising a slender hand and extending it to the dog's head.

The dog made no attempt to snap at her or growl at her; instead, he allowed her to pat him on the head softly.

And then; the transformation took place. The dog was no longer a dirty stray, but now a disheveled and weary looking Sirius Black.

The woman smiled at him, while he remained befuddled and shocked.

"What did you do to me?" came a hoarse voice Sirius scarcely recognized as his own.

The woman did not answer, but instead, smiled at him as she took his hand and stood up with him.

"Padfoot, I presume?"

Sirius said nothing.

The woman leaned into his ear and whispered;

"I do ask that the next time we meet, you do not bark so loudly. I hate to complain, but it rather hurts my ears," the woman pulled back her hair to reveal to reveal a delicately curved ear.

Sirius gasped, but the woman merely smiled as she turned away.

"Namarie, Sirius Black." The woman made a small curtsey, and then simply vanished into thin air.

Sirius looked down at himself and saw that he was once again a dog.

He gave a confused whimper before trotting back over to the dumpster and resuming his dinner.

The teacher's faculty meeting the next morning took place in the Staff Room, which was a fatal mistake. The end of July was creeping along ever so slowly, and the temperature was creeping up along with it. The room was stuffy, and nearly all the teachers were restless with anxiety to get out or to sleep. It was after all, six thirty.

"First order of business," began the Headmaster,

Dumbledore didn't even have to clear his throat to begin the meeting, for the second he opened his mouth, the Professors and Staff hushed and looked at him intently.

"If they haven't all ready introduced themselves to you, I would like to present our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, Cassandra Averill and Alexander Harrison, they've just recently switched from their Ministry jobs."

Several eyes landed on Arwen and Legolas, some meticulously examining them, some glaring feverently, some looking curiously indifferent, some smiling, and others, simply gawking at the length of Legolas's hair.

Arwen caught on to this as she pulled a fly away hair from Legolas's head and tucked it in to his head.

"We're going to have to fix this. . . ." she murmured.

"Over my dead body." he muttered back.

"I believe we'll make this as short as possible, as I am sure, we all have better things that need to be done,"

A drowsy grumble of agreement followed these words.

"First, many of you have heard that there has been several disturbances concerning the borders of the Forbidden Forest. I do not wish to convey too much information at the present, but it is extremely likely that it is Voldemort at work, along with other unnamed accomplices."

Dumbledore introduced this topic so idly Arwen couldn't help but smirk as the Professors turned pale.

"There is very little that I can disclose to you without causing more upheaval, so all I will say is be on your guard for the bizarre, the curious, and the unknown. Queer as my words may sound, I advise you to take them to heart, for you could very well save the lives of many by doing so. As the year progresses, I will keep you informed. Next item, is your supplies. . ."

Legolas and Arwen leaned into each other.

"Subtlety-" began Arwen.

"-Is an old man's favorite trick, I know. Cassandra, why isn't he telling the teachers about this?"

Arwen seemed to think about this.

"Surely he knows enough to spread the word of confirmation. . . "

"Does he?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Arwen drew back, surprised he would doubt the knowledge of a wizard like Dumbledore.

"What are you saying?" she asked numbly, eyes wide.

Legolas sighed.

"Nothing. . . what I meant to ask, is would they panic?" suggested Legolas, motioning to the preoccupied teachers, who were writing down everything they needed for the up and coming semester.

"No, they're more controlled than that." said Arwen shaking her head, and trying to look inconspicuous to a dramatically leering Trelawney.

"Well, most of them, anyway."

"Professor Averill."

Arwen looked up calmly at Dumbledore who was looking at she and Legolas idly.

"Do you have your requirements?"

"Yes, Headmaster." Arwen held up the slip of paper that Legolas had scribbled a list of books and ingredients down on.

Dumbledore nodded.

"Now, for security reasons, I'd like you to give these to Minerva and Severus, and they will fetch the items you need this afternoon. Good afternoon to you all, and Cassandra?"

"Yes?"

"Stay a while, please. You too Alexander. Severus, Minerva, this includes you as well."

As the teachers bustled out of the Staff Room, McGonnagall and Snape stayed behind, both of them looking curiously at the two new Professors and Dumbledore, as he tidied up the table with his wand.

"I have a bit of unsettling news." He said, sitting down again.

"As I have stated, Voldemort is most likely at work. However, as you have probably assumed, the creatures that we saw outside the Forest yesterday are not the creatures of this world;"

There was a shocked silence on behalf of McGonnagall and Snape, while Legolas and Arwen merely exchanged panicked looks with one another.

"Furthermore, these unfamiliar creatures that you have taken notice of yesterday are not the only dark disturbances that you will see. It is quite likely that more bizarre, more dangerous, and more unfamiliar creatures will find their way to Hogwarts, and the rest of the wizarding world."

Just as they remembered hadn't told Dumbledore about Saruman, the two elves suddenly had slued thoughts of possible scenarios running through their much too complex minds. . .

Saruman, walking in broad daylight, torturing muggles; Saruman, searching for Wormtongue; Saruman, finding a palantir-

"Professors." Dumbledore's grave voice brought the elves out of their horrific visions.

They looked at Dumbledore, trying not to look too weak in their moment of cold realization.

Apparently, he took no notice of their unusual paleness, and continued.

"In the up and coming months you are going to see beasts. . ." He paused. "And people you've never seen before," Dumbledore was now turned fully to Snape and McGonnagall, excluding Arwen and Legolas for obvious reasons.

"You are going to feel some very familiar emotions, but you will not be able to put a face to them. Do not be surprised if you come into contact with something that you have not a clue about."

Snape and McGonnagall had incredulous facial expressions; Snape looked so sour he could have easily passed as a lemon; and McGonnagall looked partially intrigued, partially offended, and partially unbelieving.

Dumbledore continued.

"There are people who will understand these creatures and people, however, and we are lucky enough to have a couple of them as our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professors. A lucky find, if you will."

Snape and McGonnagall turned to Legolas and Arwen, and promptly began to stare. McGonnagall gaped at the both of them with her eyes wide and mouth open, still not understanding much of what was being explained to her, while Snape preferred the usual glower.

Legolas felt the need to speak.

"These creatures. . . they are so dangerous," he began softly. The serious nature of his voice even made Snape re-adjust so he could pay more attention.

"Cassandra herself does not even yet know the dangers of what we now face, Professors." said Legolas a bit louder, nudging his cousin gently in the ribs.

Arwen gave him a scathing look that quickly made Legolas jump subjects.

"Look, I can't really explain much without repeating how dangerous the enemies you will face are, but. . . . um. . ."

He scratched his head, trying to think of a good metaphor for the situation as Arwen looked on, slightly amused.

Snape started strumming his fingers in light of the nonsensical situation he realized he was in, while McGonnagall simply folded
her arms across her chest and raised her eyebrows as she leaned back into her chair.

"Um. . . oh . ah ha! I've got it!"

"Imagine, Professors, a pile of broken glass. Each shard of glass has its own unique shape, but there's no way you can see what it was that has broken, but, eventually, if you piece all the shards together, you'll find out what it was."

There was a silence, and then McGonnagall tightened her stern eyes.

"Working backward?"

Snape's lip curled.

"If one might ask, Professor, why one should work backward when one all ready knows people that are perfectly fit to tell one what is going on?"

Arwen gave an exasperated sigh, as if she weary of teaching a complex lesson to a child.

"Because, Professor," she mimicked him. "If we were to tell one, one's head would swell to an uncomfortably large size and explode, leaving a huge mess for the rest of us to clean up."

Legolas saw a smile flash across McGonnagall's lips for a fraction of a second, before she retained her stern atmosphere.

"Going on," Dumbledore said, not looking a bit worried and still facing Snape and McGonnagall, "since I am still receiving information on the current situation that we now face and am not the most reliable source of wisdom, any questions that you need answering, any trusts you need confirmed, and any doubts you need quelled, belong to them," Dumbledore stretched a hand out to motion to Arwen and Legolas.

"Of course, if they do not see it fit to answer your questions, confirm your trusts, or quell your doubts, then you shall simply have to guess!" joked Dumbledore.

Again, Snape and McGonnagall turned their faces to the two teachers; McGonnagall looked doubtful, but Snape looked simply livid.

"Headmaster," Snape began, dark in his impatience, "with all due respect, if Professor Averill and Professor Harrison are here to explain the unexplained, then why are they not doing their jobs?"

"I'm afraid Cassandra and Alexander are right where they stand, Severus. While there is still little evidence to support their information, they can give you none." Dumbledore's eyes had no light-hearted humor in them, and his voice was grave.

And thus so, there was no further argument; Dumbledore's word was law, and Snape didn't have the guts to contradict him.

A silence followed as Dumbledore scribbled down a few things on a piece of parchment, and Snape took the advantage of situation and glared at Legolas and Arwen spitefully.

Legolas smiled pleasantly in return.

"Minerva and Cassandra, I am sending you to Knockturn Alley to pick up these supplies," he handed McGonnagall the list of teacher's supplies, his eyes flashed warningly at Minerva as she took the paper.

"Be careful." he murmured to her, still aware that Arwen and Legolas still had their keen elven hearing.

"Severus and Alexander, I would like you to pay a visit to Cornelius Fudge and a few departments at the Ministry,"

Arwen looked across at McGonnagall, who remained passive, while Legolas smiled politely at Snape, who looked as if he'd rather eat his own leg than spend a day with the man who took the job of his dreams.

Dumbledore blissfully ignored any animosity that may have been between anyone as he looked briefly at the parchment before him before taking off his hat and stuffing the parchment into it, and putting it back on his head.

"I advise you to return back to the School as soon as possible," he said, walking over to a small window and looking out of it passively.

"Hmm. Looks as if it's going to rain."






Galadriel sighed as the water in her calm pool grew colorful with disturbing images of foresight.

Mandos and his council were of little help these days. He and his wise council were so completely overwhelmed in their bickering over whom to send back to Arda, and who to stay, that the idea of the two wizards and two elves needing allies, and soon, was becoming a distant topic.

She would simply have to take matters into her own hands.

"Stop." she said firmly, weary with unfamiliar anxiety.

Nenya became cool on her finger, and the pool clouded over with mist, becoming calm once again.

"There are some enemies that out number us still, even when our defenses hold, my lady."

Galadriel looked over at Elrond Halfelven, sitting on her gray hedged bench, where a young Silvan Prince had been sitting not three hours hence.

She sat down next to him and thought.

"Their list of allies grows thin by the minute, Elrond. I fear soon, even Mando will abandon them. . ."

"Mandos is trying as hard as he can to resolve his circle's quarreling, Lady Galadriel."

Galadriel paused, slowly getting angry.

"Oh yes," she spat, letting her impatience best her wisdom. "I am sure that once his council agrees on who to send to help Legolas find a library book, the world will have gone back into the hands of Sauron."

Elrond sighed, knowing Galadriel's cynicism was a bad sign of immense frustration.

"It is difficult, being here, and watching every move they make without being able to reach them, isn't it?" he said softly. "But soon, they will know how to get to us. They just need a bit of time to dangle, Lady."

"-And until then?" Galadriel said, casting her eyes back to her pool. "Do we let Sauron obtain every evil essence from Middle-Earth and direct it to the New Age while Legolas and Arwen desperately try to answer questions of others, while they cannot reason their own insecurities? As they fight off new and old foes, do we let them become encircled in darkness, before it is too much for even Radagast and Gandalf to aid?"

Elrond said nothing, but merely looked on into the dense forest, surrounded in deep thoughts. Galadriel stood up and went beside her pool.

"You and I both know that Mandos is making this much too difficult. He and his council are thinking too critically on morals, threats and risks."

Elrond looked back at her, raising an eyebrow in dry humor.

"Are you insinuating that such things should not be taken into consideration when sending a creature from our time into a foreign world?"

"No, Elrond. It is you who are insinuating." Galadriel said darkly. "I am merely saying the obvious, Elrond. We've come to realize that the Ring has returned, correct? Mandos has all ready sent back Legolas, a warrior of the Fellowship of the Ring, and an elf who has all ready dealt with the Ring. Gandalf, a wizard who has faced evil numerous times and knows all of it's deceitful faces, and Arwen. Simple, yet wise Arwen who was only vaguely involved with the Ring. What I find absurd, is Mandos and his council have failed to see the pattern in their weapons of choice."

Elrond stood up, looking finely at Galadriel, as if trying to decipher her true meaning.

"Lady Galadriel, sending warriors of the Third Age-"

"No, my dear son, warriors of the Ring. Not just the Third Age, but of the Ring."

Elrond paused and looked back up at the indigo sky that was beginning to fade into night.

"I see." he said softly.

Galadriel nodded, and waited for him to say anything else derived from his great wisdom.

When no such answer came, she spoke again.

"It will be difficult, I haven't the power of Mandos, but together, Peredhel, we can bring forth allies to Arwen and Legolas as the days darken."

Elrond was still silent.

As the sun faded into the trees though, he looked back at her, a subtle line of weariness across his brow.

"You are aware that once we start sending our allies, Voldemort's army can very well find their way here?"

Galadriel gave a sinister smirk, giving Elrond chills down his spine.

"I do not believe the ever young Voldemort and his. . . humble army can do you and I much harm, don't you agree, Elrond?"

Elrond eyes twinkled, and he said nothing.

"The allies we send will have to be trustworthy, Galadriel. Every last fiber of their being must be truthful, brave and honorable to the death. Who did you plan on recruiting?"

Galadriel smiled, only this time, much more kindly.

"My dear friend, I thought you'd never ask."





Remus Lupin, in his first years at Hogwarts, was referred to as a ghost.

Thus so, he was aptly dubbed, for no one noticed him, not even James, until his second year.

His invisibility was one of the few things he prided himself on, along with his keen observational skills and his mask of indifference.

But then again, Lupin didn't like the fact that he was a great eavesdropper, and to put it frankly, a master at spying.

He wasn't a professional spy for the Ministry, or even a spy out of hobby, but rather, a vice of the greater interest of others at stake.

At this particular time and place, (that is to say, nearing ten in the morning and set at the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade) Remus Lupin's exceptional abilities were paying off, but in a not-so gratifying way.

Seated three tables away from Remus, who sat huddled over in a dark inconspicuous corner, was a tall hooded figure draped in a not so tactful white, and a shorter, lankier figure, clothed in a faded black cloak. Their faces were obscured from Remus, as he sat slumped over in his seat, head buried in his arms, as though he were trying to sleep, but unfortunately, he had only managed to doze in and out of a state of consciousness, which allowed for almost perfect hearing from where he sat. . .

A tight, curling voice was heard, and Remus automatically did not like the way it made him feel.

"Mandos is a fool. For an angelic and ever dominant spirit, that is. The elves are desperate for allies, master."

A deep rumble was heard, and Remus vaguely recognized it as a laugh.

"Even Illuvatar's pet cannot decide who to send and who to keep. Pathetic." growled the deep voice.

"Master, the ghost you nearly cursed a week ago has given the elves warning on your searching for the One. Greenleaf and Evenstar know you are on the castle grounds, but haven't a clue as to why you are looking for Greenleaf."

"Let's keep it that way." the voice said dangerously.

"Y-yes, master, always. . ." the snaky voice cowered.

"Now," the dark voice had a curl of malice to it as he spoke again,

"What news of Voldemort?"

Remus tightened, and just barely managed to stifle a gasp as he tried to slow his breathing.

There was a slight creak as one of the men leaned across the table, presumably the snaked voiced man.

"He is angry, master. Very, very, angry."

There was an eerie silence as neither of the men spoke.

Remus couldn't blame them, infuriating Voldemort definitely called for a reflective silence; Remus' thoughts were suddenly shattered when booming laughter hit his ears for the second time that night.

"Oh really?!" the dark voice snickered viciously.

"Yes, master. Voldemort's sending deatheaters by the dozen after The Dark Lord, thinking he knows his next move, thinking he knows the location of the Dark Lord, thinking he knows all of the Dark Lord's allies. . . "

The other man scoffed at the snaky man.

"What a nuisance. The Dark Lord should have never made that alliance with him," the man sighed. "But you and I know changing the past isn't all that easy, isn't that right?"

"Yes, master."

"So Voldemort thinks he can tangle with the Dark Lord and those faithful to him?" he began, obviously not very impressed with Voldemort's army.

These men have to have been living in a cave for the last thirty years. . ., Remus thought dryly.

"Wait, my master, there is more; the creature Gollum hides in the mists of Mirkwood, even as I speak. He is searching for The One now more desperately more than ever, and will stop at nothing to get it back."

The man growled at this.

"As if our Lord hasn't enough to deal with, pesky Voldemort, those silly elves and their 'wizards and witches' and now, Smeagol, that filthy maggot." he sighed. "They will be easy enough to dispose of, though. I should not worry myself with such trifling matters." he added, trying to sound relaxed, though Remus could tell there was a good amount of anxiety in his deep voice.

"The riders are becoming restless, my master. They hunger for the The One and are begging to be released from Mirkwood. And what with Voldemort's growing aggravation and desperation with finding The One, would it be such a terrible idea?"

"Not yet. It's too early. But soon, my servant. Very soon."

Remus was fingering the wand in his pocket, trying to decide whether blowing these fools away or listening with dumbfounded amusement with whatever else these oddballs had to say.

"Master," continued the voice, "I must admit, I was very apprehensive to meet you in such a. . ." the slithering voice paused in distaste, "precarious location. . ."

"You are in no position to be comforted, Wormtongue."

There was another silence.

"Yes, master, but you have misunderstood me. Voldemort has spies everywhere, and. . ." the voice cowered into a whisper, "who knows what allies that the elves may have made in this new time. . ."

A booming laugh erupted from the white cloaked man, and the cynicism in which nearly made Remus jump up and hex his way out of the Hog's Head.

"You speak of spies and allies, my young learner. In this world, allies are forsaken, as you and I, and the Overlord have so unfortunately learned. If we have such undependable allies, what makes you think that our young elven friends will be luckier with their fortunes?"

Just as the question was posed, the old rusty door to the Hog's Head was slammed open with great force, followed by a cold gust of air. Remus decided this would be a good time to stop his feigned hangover and quietly raise his head.

He almost laughed at the impeccable timing the three deatheaters, who stood poised stiffly and quite angrily at the entrance, had managed to make, right at the end of the white wizard's grueling boast about the incompetence of the Deatheaters.

As the small population of the Hog's Head began to screech and flee the small pub in panic, Remus couldn't help but gape, amazed, at the white wizard and his stocky companion.

They hadn't moved, nor shown any fear, surprise, even haughtiness at the arrival of Voldemort's clan.

The two merely looked at the three, blankly, as if the Deatheaters were lost travelers, mistaking the Hog's Head for the Three Broomsticks.

It was at this realization that Remus realized, these two wizards were either completely clueless, completely moronic, or completely fearless. . . but what intrigued Remus the most, was the little voice that was begging to find out which of the three these wizards were.

However curious the inner child that Sirius Black had implanted in him was, Remus maintained himself and his calm and cool nature swept back to him, and Remus stayed in his dark corner, wand in hand, but inconspicuous.

The Deatheaters stepped in, their hollow boots echoing dully on the ill kept wooden floor. The abused door snapped shut as the following two wizards stepped after it, and Remus realized getting out would be an adventure indeed.

In several fluid motions, wands were drawn and the black cloaks that veiled the Deatheater's ominous identities were thrown back.

At the head, Lucius Malfoy, followed closely by two unknown wizards Remus could not put a name to.

The two seated wizards, however, remained passive.

Remus cringed inwardly as the Deatheaters swiftly advanced upon the two seated wizards, their deadly faces etched in ice.

As the three Deatheaters placed themselves stonily beside the white wizard's table, the white wizard still showed no apprehension.

Lucius whipped his wand to the nose of the white wizard and gave a vicious snarl.

"Name." he demanded coldly.

The white wizard merely looked distastefully at the wand pointed at him, before he swatted it away with annoyance.

"Do you often approach total strangers and shove little sticks in their faces?"

Lucius' lip curled angrily at this remark, but he did not move to hex the wizard.

"What is your name, old man?" Lucius asked again, a dangerous edge to his silky voice.

The white wizard raised an eyebrow.

"Which name are you looking for, little boy? I have many."

Understandably, Lucius did not like that title at all. He threw his wand back up to the white wizard's nose and growled maliciously.

"Let's try your true name, old man."

"Your ignorant little head would burst if I did such a thing, and I do not wish to have such filth on my robes."

Lucius was unaffected by the mild insult, and merely let his lips twitch in slight amusement, though his wand remained unwavering.

"Your name," he jabbed his wand into the white wizard's nose, "now."

The white wizard stood up, and Remus suddenly realized what a tall giant he was. Lucius, who was a good six feet, had to look up a few inches at the white wizard, who had just pulled out a long walking stick. Remus' face flushed as he had to hide a groan, he felt extremely embarrassed for this poor old man.

Lucius was not intimidated easily, and held his wand in place.

"You know, being sly and tactful just isn't the same anymore, is it Wormtongue?"

The lanky wizard did not reply, the but white wizard continued.

"Times were, wise wizards did not come slamming into rooms demanding such trivial things such as names. Hmm. Voldemort really is losing his edge, isn't he?" the white wizard replied, curtly.

The room's temperature suddenly dropped, and one of the Deatheaters shivered at the mention of his master's powerful name.

"You dare speak his name, you bumbling old fool?" Lucius said softly.

"Names are treacherous, young man."

Lucius was mere inches away from the white wizard's face.

"You do not know his power. He will suck the life out of you like a venomous serpent. I suggest you give me your name, and I might spare you his wrath by putting you to a civil end."

Remus cringed as the old man boomed with laughter.

"Wrath?" The old man pushed Malfoy away none too gently and held up his staff. "You've obviously never seen real wrath, have you boy?!"

Malfoy had obviously had enough, he and the following two deatheaters raised their wands and opened their mouths, ready to hex; but with a slight prod of air with his staff, the white wizard snapped all three wands in two.

Lucius gaped down at his wand as it shriveled away into dust at his very feet.

At this point, Lupin's eyes grew wide with profound realization, and a swarm of thoughts raced through his mind. . .

This is obviously not a wizard who is afraid of Voldemort. Okay, so there are only so many of those kind of people these days, this could mean several things;

A) Rogue deatheater (note: not likely, seeing how he is not dead and/or maimed)

B) Crazy senile old man (probable)

C)Recruit spy from Albus (???)

D)Crazy senile old man who is brave and/or daft enough to pull a hokey magic trick like liquefying prominent deatheater's wands. (well, there's only one wizard who fits that description, and he doesn't look like Albus)

He can't be working for Dumbledore, way too unstable; but, then again, so were a lot of people. All right, so if he's crazy enough to pull off a stunt like that, the question really is, do I really want to stick around for something unpleasant to happen, or high tail it to Hogwarts?


"You want names, boy?" the wizard's harsh voice pulled Remus out of his light speed thinking, as the white wizard raised up his staff.

Suddenly, the entire tavern was ablaze with a black fire and the three deatheater's were literally blown off their feet. Remus shot up from his seat and ducked down on to the floor, where he was at least a bit safer to observe. An unseen force picked up and tore at everything in the pub. Tables snapped in two, mugs made of steel shattered into a million pieces, and the black fire sped along the wooden walls.

Remus felt like someone was ripping him limb to limb, something was clawing feverishly at his mind, pulling his organs and painfully rearranging them-

"Wizard of Many Colors!" the man boomed as he waved his staff again.

The white wizard's accomplice was behind the older wizard in a flash, cowering underneath his height and build, poking his greasy head out now and then to glare at the Deatheaters.

Remus screamed as his wand flew out of his pocket and began rattling and shaking from the inside out on the ground.

The three deatheaters were hauled up from the ground by an invisible force and slammed brutally against the wall of the tavern.

"The Wise Leader of the High Council!"

Remus ducked as miscellaneous objects began thundering across the room to create a giant hurricane around the three baffled deatheaters.

"I am Saruman the White, and loyal servant of the great Dark Lord, Sauron!"

Just as quickly as it had all begun, the chaos ended. The remains of the mugs clattered to the ground arranged in a thousand pieces, the heavy objects that had only moments ago been used as a whirlwind died in midair and fell back to the wooden floor as the black fire was magically extinguished, and the unspeakable torture that had been raving inside Remus was subdued.

Remus looked up coyly from behind a charred half table at the white wizard.

He was no longer looking haughty and self-assured, but rather, displeased as he glared down at the three deatheaters, who were panicking to get up.

The greasy wizard that had hidden behind the white wizard during the entire episode stepped out confidentially and mimicked his elder by glaring fiercely at the astounded deatheaters.

Lucius Malfoy, apart from looking completely appalled, scandalized, and most of all pissed off looked at Saruman with a snarl.

"Saruman of Many Colors," he spat out, as if the words were mud on his tongue, "you shall be expecting word from my master, and next time, don't expect a trick that that to save your neck."

With a prude sniff, Lucius flattened the crease in his scuffed up robes, turned his heel and walked straight for the door, not taking a second glance at the two deatheaters who were still motionless on the ground.

The white wizard and his accomplice still had their dark eyes on the door long after Lucius had exited, and neither spoke for a long time.

"Master. . .?" inquired the shorter greasy wizard softly.

"Yes, Wormtongue?"

"They don't have a chance do they?"

"Who, Wormtongue?

"Any of them."

As a slow, cruel malicious smile crept upon the white wizard's face, lighting in delight, Remus realized that this man was definitely not working for Albus. . . or Voldemort.